


Photographs

by PsychoFrog



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 14:35:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11382207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychoFrog/pseuds/PsychoFrog
Summary: Sometimes it is best to leave the places we will miss, because smiles only stay bright in photographs.





	Photographs

Pansy let the smoke fly through the barrier of her lips while watching the couple outside make their way through the rain. Her head tilted as she noticed they were nevertheless laughing. Rain was soaking the clothes, but her red hair seemed brighter than usual.

-Stop smoking in my shop.

Pansy let her gaze linger a bit on the giggling couple before turning to face Draco.

-Shut up.  
-How rude, he commented waving his wand over bubbling cauldrons.  
-You live in the smoke of your smelly potions, but can’t stand the one coming from fags? How precious. And annoying.  
-You know you’re free to leave whenever you want if you’re unhappy about that. But my shop, my rules. Furthermore, I think we’ve already discussed about how I felt about the word fag Pans’, and I know you’re using it to annoy me, but I still don’t condone it.

Pansy grumbled under her breath but graciously obeyed and threw her cigarette out of the window. The rain was still thumping down and large puddles were forming in the corners of Diagon Alley. The couple was gone, and the only bright colour was coming from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. She always thought it was a wonder the remaining twin had found the courage to continue keeping it by himself. She surely would not have. She still couldn’t do anything, even though the war was now five years behind them and all of them had aged. Some memories were still vibrant in her mind, full of colours she didn’t want to remember. Pansy shook her head and turned away from the window to concentrate on her friend again.

-Are you finished?  
-Obviously not.  
-You should be, she snapped. You’ve been telling me I’m the rude one, but I’m not the one who invites my friends for dinner and makes them wait at their doorstep.  
-You’re not on my doorstep I let you inside, he answered, turning pages from a book before adding some chopped ingredient in one of the fuming pots.  
-Because I insisted, and because there’s a fucking storm outside Malfoy. Pansy felt the need to stamp her feet, like the spoiled rotten girl she ought to be. I’m hungry, and I want to go to dinner now, she complained, making sure the last word stood out by its urgency. It wasn’t even true, she wasn’t that famished. But she was annoyed, and needed some attention to focus on something else before it became too late for her. 

Draco had lifted his head from his books, and was now looking at her with his brow furrowed. She held his gaze, trying to make him understand her distress. She needed to go. After what seemed to be already too long, he nodded and called a house elf who immediately apparated. While he was quickly listing the properties of the potion he was brewing and what he ought to do with it while he was gone, Pansy let her gaze return to the other side of the window. A witch chased her had that had managed to fly away, while two kids were dashing out of the Weasley’s shop. She felt a pat on her shoulder indicating that they could go now, and she held her hand out for Draco to take. They apparated far from the shop and the rain.

 

The restaurant in where Draco had booked a table was a small restaurant in the countryside. It wasn’t the first time they went there. The food wasn’t extraordinary and the place in itself wasn’t that charming, but practical in the way the number of customers seldom exceeded the number of three, them included. After the war, when the wizarding community was still a wreck and the death eater hunt was still raging, it was one of the safest places to be in public. Although five years later people would think things had changed for the better, Pansy still had to deal with disdainful expressions when she went outside to breathe some fresh air. She knew Draco had it worse, even with all his efforts to work on his redemption, which, if it were only to her, she thought he had earned a long time ago. But the world wasn’t as quick as to believe they had changed, so nobody discussed it when they still met here. 

Pansy pulled the chair of the table furthest in the corner, and let the peaceful atmosphere of this place fill her. She noticed Draco had pushed the potted flowers towards her and sniffed. This managed to steal one of her rare smiles as she recalled his stupid allergies. As wizards they could transform a rat into a crystal cup, but couldn’t get rid of hay fever. How useful.

The owner of the shop came to collect their order while setting on the table their usual drinks. One shot of firewhiskey in order to set the mood. Pansy didn’t like this many people, but the small half blind grandpa with an apron that always appeared to be too long for him was surprisingly someone she didn’t find detestable. He was in fact nice. She was pretty sure he had known who they were long ago, their pictures were not left unknown in the Daily Prophet, but this man had never once said anything. He served them as his usuals, and sometime Pansy almost thought she could distinguish a token of kindness to them, like a slice of extra bread or fresh flowers. Never much, but she knew much was never better. 

Draco and her didn’t talk until the old man had delivered their plates. 

-At least it’s not raining here, he began.

Pansy turned her head. The pale blue wallpaper was matching the sky, and the window revealed large hills of dark green. Some white spots were where daisies decided to grow.

-I like it better here. It’s calmer.  
-You could move.  
-Don’t be silly, she retorted, brushing the idea away.  
-I could have a house built for you here if you wanted, Draco offered.  
-I’d miss the city too much. So would you.  
-Well sometimes it is best to do things you will regret, and leave places you will miss.  
-You’re not making any sense, she snapped with a mirthless laugh.  
-I think I am actually.

She knew he was. They both knew. 

-Maybe in a year or two, if it doesn’t get any better, we could both agree to settle down here, he suggested again.  
-Why not, she answered absently.  
-This way none of us would die alone in the end.  
-We all die alone Malfoy don’t be stupid. And I wouldn’t be able to make you forget that, would I?  
-No. I don’t think you could.

Pansy felt the urge to smoke. She rapidly conjured an ashtray and helped a cigarette out of her pack. Opening the window slightly, she took the first drag as Draco conjured an invisible bubble around them to retain the smell. She threw a glance at her dish. Salad. Thank Merlin they always ordered cold food here, otherwise they would never eat a single meal warm. 

-What was it you said? Two years?  
-What? Oh. Yeah. If in two years it doesn’t get better, I’ll have a house built here. Let’s move in together.  
-Make it seven.  
-You know thirty is supposed to be the age where you’re the most accomplished?  
-There’s another reason to make it thirty.  
-I’m sure you’ll be stunning when you’ll be thirty Pans’. It’ll be a shame.  
-Then shame be it, she said while the smoke escaped her mouth at the pace of her words.

 

When Pansy got home, it was late, and the firewhiskey made it difficult to determine on which number the clock’s hands were resting. But it was late. She had ended up drinking too much. Although this happened more than she would like to admit, it was a wonder her body still couldn’t deal with the intoxication. She would have thought after a year, she would have made it home without tripping on her carpet. She hated that carpet. She hated everything about it, but couldn’t resign herself to throw it away. She had liked it too much for her to throw it away.

Throwing her wand towards the couch, she stumbled towards her bedroom, but stopped on her way to look at the photographs smiling to her on her chest. Her fogged mind couldn’t however block the exactness of the lines and the colours. Bright red against pitch black, and two wide smiles. 

Pansy felt her eyes sting a bit before tasting the first tear on her parched lips. It’s been a year now, and year where she hadn’t worn any lipstick, or makeup, or nice clothes. A year where she hadn’t found the courage to look anything but fragile and worn out. Incomplete. A year since she had gone, and that she missed her like crazy. 

She knelt in front of her memories she couldn’t bear to abandon and let her head rest on the carved wood as she tried swallowing back her pain. If she stood up, she would have to face the small cut on the doorframe she had caused by mistake after an inconclusive cooking attempt. Then came the miniature frog she had begged to buy during one of their trips to France. And the double-bed they had been so enthusiastic to try once they had brought it home. Now while someone else held her tight when tangled in the sheets, Pansy slept strangled by them and the scent she had left. 

Her sobs became more and more pronounced and she was now having trouble to breathe correctly. The whole place reminded her of her, but she wouldn’t, no, couldn’t have it changed. The colours of her were still too vivid in her memories, and blinded her from anything else. She still thought of her when she woke up in the mornings, and when she fell in oblivion at night after too many shots or cigarettes until pain would wake her up the next morning too. The latter had been the new companions to her loneliness, and contrary to all she had loved, they had never left her in a year. The smoke was what held her to sleep, and alcohol warmed her when she felt cold. And she knew it would stay that way, because smiles only stayed that bright in photographs.


End file.
